Smaller Sacrifices
by Nos4a2no9
Summary: Set during the 'Sacrifices' storyline, a three issue crossover which concluded in Wonder Woman 219. Superman beats the tar out of Batman, Wonder Woman is forced to commit an unforgivable transgression, and the Trinity is broken. From Catwoman's POV.


_ **Summary**: _contains spoilers _Set during the "Sacrifices" storyline, a three-issue crossover which concluded in _Wonder Woman #219_. By now, I'm sure everyone knows what happened - Maxwell Lord was mind-controlling Supes, who went on a rampage and beat Batman up something fierce. Wonder Woman is forced to kill Maxwell Lord to protect her friends, thereby committing an unforgiveable transgression. This story is from Catwoman's POV, since she's pretty much the only Batman ally left in Gotham after War Games. _

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the Bat-characters or subsequent franchise licenses. If I did, I would be a billionaire (and perhaps a secret vigilante). This was just for fun._

_**Rating: **M for __possible strong but non-explicit adult themes and references to violence._

SMALLER SACRIFICES

The call comes in at 6:20am, just as I'm dozing off. At first I think it's the phone, Slam or Holly maybe, calling to check in. But in my sleep-fogged daze, I don't recognize the voice. It's clear and lovely and pure as a church bell. Alien to my ears.

"He's hurt," the voice tells me, waking me up faster than a dose of cold water or a hard slap. I don't bother with stupid questions, and I don't argue with The Voice. My thoughts tunnel and I push a pile of cats off my chest, standing and pulling on the costume with one hand, the phone in the other.

"Where?"

"I'm bringing him to the cave."

It's only now that it hits me who that voice on the other end belongs to. And it feels so wrong, her calling me like this, her knowing enough to call. I wonder what he's told her, how much she's guessed. Then my thoughts do the tunnel-thing again and I calculate how quickly I can make the trip from the East End to Bristol without asking the Princess for a ride.

I arrive before she does, which means it's bad. Alfred isn't even around to help. The Cave is all darkness and echoes, and I shiver in this burial chamber of his. He's brought me here before, but I never linger. It's too far underground, too much a part of his darkness. There's too much death in here.

A boom-tube bursts open, straining the air and illuminating its passengers. I work not to show any reaction to the bruised, bloodied body cradled in the arms of the Amazon. His skin looks like ground beef, that broad chest I've licked at like cream mottled with angry red burns. He's been bandaged, bruises treated, broken bones set. What I'm seeing now is the sanitized version of a beating so severe he should have died.

"Who?" my mouth wants to know. Her eyes narrow; I can't tell if she disapproves of such a bloodthirsty question. Maybe she expected tears, at least some sign that I really am dying inside. But I can only ask, "Who?" and watch with cool eyes as she sets him down on the MED bed.

Her silence bothers me as much as mine bothers her. I've never met the Princess before, at least not formally. God knows Bruce never introduced us. I'm not sure if the irony which rules our sad little corner of the universe could handle the two of us, the Amazon and I, shaking hands. I'd be tempted to try for her lasso, just to remind him of the contradictions of his life.

With hard eyes I watch as she connects his body to the machinery he cannot live without: a heart monitor, an IV, a catheter. The Princess seems to move methodically, her composure equaling my own. I try not to hate her, but petty rivalries are forgotten as I begin to catalogue his injuries and come to the inevitable conclusion about the identity of his attacker.

"Can he hear me?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"I've been using the healing ray," she tells me, as if that's supposed to explain something. "Twenty-four hours and maybe…"

"He's really going to be pissed when he wakes up, huh?"

This elicits a small smile, and I marvel at the revelation that she might have a sense of humor after all. It doesn't make me hate her any less, but I'm beginning to see what he likes about her.

"I need something," she says, meeting my less-than-sympathetic gaze. Her beauty isn't conveyed well by the cable news networks: she's lovelier than any woman has a right to be. But her eyes are something else, something not of this earth, gray and wise and beyond this mortal coil. I cannot meet her gaze.

"What?"

"The rock."

I'm glad I wore the costume: the mask gives me some kind of a buffer. I know what it is that she needs, and where it is. I'm just not sure I should give it to her.

"And what if he comes back to finish the job?"

The Princess, just for a moment, allows some feeling to flicker behind those eyes of hers. She allows errant fingers to trail through his hair where the bandages end, my jealousy dying when I realize she doesn't even know what she's doing.

"Would you protect him?" she asks me, pretending to fiddle with some of the tubes carrying precious medicine into Bruce.

I move towards her now, finally, and stand just out of reach of the bed. I need to touch him, to assure myself that underneath the swelling and bruises he's still alive. I've never seen him so still, so vulnerable. And it frightens me in ways this gray-eyed goddess must never know.

"I wouldn't be able to stop him," I find myself telling her. "Not if he comes back for Bruce. I'm not like you."

If this surprises her, she doesn't show it. Some of that crowd – the hero crowd – is convinced I'm a meta. I think it's self-defense, a way to shore up battered egos I've gotten the drop on in my previous life as one of the bad guys. Or maybe it's just that Bruce and I don't make sense unless one of us is more than human. But the Princess, perhaps because she knows him better than I do, doesn't seem to question my right to be here. Maybe that is what makes me get her the rock.

He hasn't given me the security protocols, fail-safe devices designed to stop the likes of Lex Luthor and Brainiac. I get in and out in less than fifteen minutes anyway, telling myself I wasn't trying to impress her.

"It's what I do," I shrug, placing the rock firmly in her hands. "Now go do what you do. Keep him safe."

And she's gone in the space between heartbeats.

It's some hours later before she returns. Bruce is up – too soon, of course – and reacts to my surrender of the kryptonite with un-Bruce-like acceptance. Whatever's going on up there in that glorified tree house, it's much worse than I thought.

He's sitting up at the computer, straining his ribs, making me wince. I watch from a handy ledge, more frightened for him than angry.

"I don't ask," I point out quietly in the gloom of the cave. "I never ask."

"It doesn't concern you," he points out, just as quietly. I nod, because he's making sense. It's part of our deal. We tell each other just enough to avoid saying anything at all.

"Why did she call me?"

"Because she knew you could overcome the security protocols faster than Alfred."

Again, he's making sense. It's starting to aggravate me, and he knows it. He's counting on it. And I give him the kind of reaction he wants.

I drop down off the ledge, the leather of my costume squeaking softly as I cross the cave and settle into his lap, my arms around his neck, his hands finding my waist. I give him points for not flinching as my weight settles against his much-abused body.

"Talk," I order, leaning my head against his chest. His voice rumbles against my ear as he tells me about a freak named Dr. Light and lines heroes aren't supposed to cross. Our fingers knit together as he speaks, the solidarity of flesh and bone. And he shows me, as he does each night, just why he needs me in his life. I stop worrying about gray eyes.

She finds us there like that, and his grip around me tightens. I squeeze his hand, knowing he won't want my help but knowing too that he needs it.

"Can I speak to Bruce alone?" the Princess asks me. I don't have any intention of leaving him alone with her, but that voice of doubt, spoken in the language of violent pimps and bad relationships, makes me hesitate. Then Bruce speaks and it's a moment before I hear him.

"She stays."

Diana bows her head, and I wonder if he meant it as a punishment for her instead of an affirmation for me. With Bruce, it can always go either way.

"I killed Maxwell Lord," she says, blunt as only an instrument of truth can be. Bruce seems stunned, those dark, watchful eyes naked in their confusion.

"It was the only option," she tells him, stepping forward, her eyes human again. I'm surprised to see her beg, knowing it's a lost cause. If there's one thing the Batman can never forgive…

He tries to stand and I rise to help him, letting him drape a trembling arm across my shoulders. He begins to sweat from the pain and the effort.

Words seem to fail us all. I watch as these two heroes, whose decency I could never touch, try to find a way to reconcile with one another and fail. Something dies in Bruce then, whatever it was that let him play nice with the others. He turns from Wonder Woman on fractured bones and a broken heart.

"Get out."

"Bruce," she tries, but I step forward, the thief, the whore, placing a restraining hand on a goddess.

"You heard him," I tell her, and she doesn't doubt what's in my eyes. We have that in common, a vow to protect this man at all costs.

"Goodbye," she whispers to him. I follow her out.

"Watch over him," she tells me outside the cave, the night air thick and fragrant. It's twelve hours since the call, but the whole world has changed. "He has no one now."

"He has me," I tell her softly. "For what it's worth."

We're quiet. I can almost feel sorry for her. I've taken a life before, too, only not in the way she has. And I don't doubt it was necessary: her type wouldn't be capable of it, otherwise. Rationalizations are everything to the hero set. Bruce made it clear that Diana wasn't involved in the thing with Dr. Light: out of all of them she's the only one who came out clean. But now this…I realize he really doesn't have a friend in the world.

"He won't forgive you for this," I tell her as if it needs to be said. And it feels good, casting judgment like this upon my betters. That good feeling fades at her simple nod of agreement.

"If I'd shattered his body, played with his mind-"

"Maybe you'd have a shot," I agree. We smile then, sharing a joke about the man we both love. It's very far from funny.

She sighs. "Protect him as much as you can. Love him as much as he'll let you. And when it's all over…"

"I'll be there for him," I promise.

The Princess nods, preparing to soar away. "I wasn't sure about you," she tells me. "I'm not sure you're the sort of woman he can trust. But maybe none of us know anything about trust anymore. Maybe loyalty is more important."

I don't even try to argue. An unnatural wind, and then she's gone. I go back to that place, to that man, where trust isn't as important as staying for the end.

We hold each other for a long, long time in the darkness of the cave.

...end...


End file.
